t he felt any
sensation of vitality in the epigastrium, used to turn short round,
exclaiming, "I have found it!" and ride home from the finest chase. It
was the same Lord Russell, by the way, who, when he met a beggar and was
implored to give him something, because he was almost famished with
hunger, called him a happy dog, and envied him too much to relieve him.
From some recent remarks of your boarding-house hostess, my friend, I am
led to suppose that you are now almost as well off, in point of
appetite, as if you were a beggar; and I wish to keep you so.

How much the spirits rise with health! A family of children is a very
different sight to a healthy man and to a dyspeptic. What pleasure you
now take in yours! You are going to live more in their manner and for
their sakes, henceforward, you tell me. You are to enter upon business
again, but in a more moderate way; you are to live in a pleasant little
suburban cottage, with fresh air, a horse-railroad, and good schools.
For I am startled to find that your interest In your offspring, like
that of most American parents, culminates in the school-room. This
important matter you have neglected long enough, you think, foolishly
absorbed in making money for them. Now they shall have money enough, to
be sure, but wisdom in plenty. Angelina shall walk in silk attire, and
knowledge have to spare. To which school shall you send her? you ask me,
with something of the old careworn expression, pulling six different
prospectuses from your pocket. Put them away, Dolorosus; I know the
needs of Angelina, and I can answer instantly. Send the girl, for the
present at least, to that school whose daily hours of session are the
shortest, and whose recess-times and vacations are of the most
formidable length.

No, anxious parent, I am not joking. I am more anxious for your children
than you are. On the faith of an ex-teacher and ex-school-committee-
man,--for what respectable middle-aged American man but has passed
through both these spheres of uncomfortable usefulness?--I am terribly
in earnest. Upon this point asserted,--that the merit of an American
school, at least so far as Angelina is concerned, is in inverse ratio to
the time given to study,--I will lay down incontrovertible propositions.

Sir Walter Scott, according to Carlyle, was the only perfectly healthy
literary man who ever lived,--in fact, the one suitable text, he says,
for a sermon on health. You may wonder, Dolorosus,